


Dirty Little Secret

by cumdumpster69 (albertpops)



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Dirty Little Secret, Explicit Sexual Content, Inspired by Music, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Masturbation, My First Smut, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn Magazines, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Secret Relationship, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25373869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/albertpops/pseuds/cumdumpster69
Summary: Cameras installed, wiretaps in place: L's suspicion of Light doesn't waver. The perfect world Light has planned isn't going to create itself, and Light would do anything to ensure that he wins in the end.
Relationships: L/Yagami Light
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	Dirty Little Secret

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mouthpieceoftheuniverse (TheWeaverofWorlds)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWeaverofWorlds/gifts).



> This one is a commission by my homie, my sister, my queen, Mouthpieceoftheuniverse, who offered me a challenge I couldn't decline. I typically don't write smut; this is my first go at it. Please drop a comment and give feedback if you like! 
> 
> Let me know that I've done wrong, when I've known this all along,  
> Go around a time or two, just to waste my time with you,  
> Tell me all that you've thrown away,  
> Find out games you don't want to play,  
> You are the only one that needs to know...

Light had two shadows now. Or was it that Light had a shadow, and Kira had one as well? It was hard to say. The feeling of being watched never subsided. Since Raye Penber, he’d gotten used to the feeling of eyes on him. The news, the surveillance cameras, the agents; the feeling had too many sources now. It was getting more difficult to sense which was which, or if a new one appeared. Simultaneously, it was getting more difficult not to enjoy the fame and spotlight. Kira had an image, now, and a following. It was all he could do not to let the pride show. He walked through the city streets on his way back home with his eyes on the sidewalk before him, observing the cracks in the pavement like they were the lines and creases in parchment. Ryuk followed closely behind Kira. L followed distantly behind Light. 

From the outside, Light appeared to be a normal high school student. Perfect grades. Perfect habits. Perfect manners. Perfect family. Perfect social circle. Perfectly nice dates with perfectly nice girls. Perfect demeanor. Perfect clothes. Perfect face. So maybe being a “normal” university student was too generous of an analysis. He was the perfect student, in too many ways. That wasn’t something that could be faked or fabricated. He was the kind of guy that most guys would resent, if they could find a reason. If he wasn’t so damn likable, maybe. If he wasn’t so damn perfect, there would be some gap in the façade to weasel into, and see what ugliness might lie beneath. If there were rumors going around, they were out of jealousy, and they’d be debunked without Light even knowing about them. 

L knew this. 

Still, Light sighed as he tucked the pulp magazine deeper into his bag, contemplating. It didn’t hurt to be too careful. Maybe the magazine didn’t bode well for his perfect image, but a couple well-chosen vices might get him off the hook, and out from under suspicion. 

The bars on either side of the train tracks lifted and Light crossed nonchalantly. The errand of picking up the magazine didn’t take him too much time. Besides, even if he was being followed or tracked, this aligned with his alibi. Of course there was still homework to do and Sayu to help, but he wouldn’t be using the Death Note today. Everything was going exactly as planned. 

The crowds of pedestrians thinned as he turned onto the street where he lived. “Ryuk,” he said under his breath. They walked along in the sudden quiet, the glow of the sun setting the city ablaze. Warbled scales of light bounced off every window. Ryuk hovered like a moth around a lightbulb, tainting the shades of gold with an otherworldly darkness. 

“Eh, Light?” He questioned. “You talk so quietly. Speak up.” 

Even with few to no people around, Light kept his sotto-voce. “You said there were sixty-four cameras placed in my room?” 

“Yeah,” Ryuk confirmed. “I’ll double check it, if you give me double the apples.” 

Light huffed a silent laugh out his nose. “No need. I was just thinking…” 

All that followed was the sound of Light’s footsteps on the stone walkway, and the occasional flap of Ryuk’s wings. Light sighed and his eyes darted to his bag. He tugged the zipper a little more open, as if it would arouse suspicion being zipped shut. A printed girl’s shoulder and bra strap hung out between the folds of the bag. “They may know this is an act.”

“The police?”

“Think about it,” Light uttered, trying to move his mouth as little as possible. Though Ryuk was an otherworldly, transdimensional god of death, sometimes it took a lot for Light not to flick the shinigami’s forehead. “I’m in a delicate position right now. It wouldn’t be very wise to pull punches. How long have the cameras been in the house? And I’m only picking up--” he tapped the magazine with one knuckle, “today? They’ll think I found the cameras, and I’m obviously trying to cover it up, and call it ‘an obvious message.’ They think I’m too perfect, and when I’m not too perfect, they think it’s an act.” He muttered the last sentence mostly to himself and let his thoughts beat to his footsteps evenly like a metronome. 

“Doesn't matter to me,” Ryuk laughed like a paper bag being crumpled up. “As long as it’s not boring.” 

Light cast a sidelong glance at the shadow floating above him. Ryuk was too far behind him for Light to be able to read his expression. “That’s the thing,” he resumed tiredly. “I need to convince L that this isn’t an act. I’ll give him something I can’t fake. I don’t know exactly what events or details you can see in the human world from the Shinigami realm, but,” he placed his hand over the corner of the magazine, “I would appreciate if you didn’t see what I’m about to do next.” 

“Eh?”

“Once we get in the house, I won’t be able to talk to you,” he added, pulling his house keys out of his jacket pocket. “So I won’t tell you again.” 

The door clicked open and they entered. All within the house was still. His mom was probably out running errands, and Sayu must be hanging out with a friend after school. He switched on the light in the entry hall. “Hello?” Light called into the dark house, putting one hand on the stair’s railing. “I’m ho-ome.” He glanced around the house, awaiting a response, though expecting none. He elbowed his backpack to the center of his back, and craned his neck to peer slightly into each room, wondering if he might make eye contact with one of the cameras, or the person sitting behind it, by mistake. 

“Your son has come home.” L observed benignly. Light’s grainy black and white image on the screen peered down the hallway, then stepped quietly up the stairs. 

“Yes,” said Chief Yagami, “he’s finished with school for the day. He’s a normal high schooler, Ryuzaki--” 

“Not normal.” L slid his small dessert plate towards him and poked a strawberry with his fork. “Perfect. This kind of morbid meticulousness matches the sketch of Kira that we have right now. Don’t worry.” He tracked his eyes over to the chief and blinked slowly. His eyes burned, and he tried to blink the stinging sensation away. “If your son is not Kira, he will prove it in time.” 

“And if he is?” Yagami cleared his throat. “If he  _ is _ Kira?” 

L turned back to the screen and watched for a moment. “I think you know the answer to that perfectly well.” 

That was true, but it was a thought that he tried to keep as far away as he could. He observed his son as Light’s image padded into his room silently and closed the door. He set the bag down on the bed and began to tug the zipper back, then looked over his shoulder, walked back to the door, and locked it. 

L’s interest piqued. A locked door in an empty house? What extra security did he need? What secret was he protecting? 

Light walked back over to the bed and unzipped his bag the rest of the way, pulling the magazine out carefully so the pages didn’t wrinkle. He pushed the bag to the other side of the bed and sat down, leaning back against the headboard and spreading the pages over his lap. Though small on the screen, the salacious pictures were clear. 

Yagami bristled. “No son of mine--!” 

“It’s common seventeen year old behavior.” L commented. 

Yagami looked for a moment in disbelief and indignation before he took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes with one hand. That was also true, and it was better than being Kira. Not that it would clear Light’s name, but a magazine was better than a murder weapon. He then put his hands on his hips and paced around the open space behind L. 

Light paged through the magazine. There were girls in skimpy outfits, every color imaginable. Girls on their knees, gazing up at the reader with big eyes. Girls with their legs in the air, hands splayed in their tossed hair. Girls bent over, hands on their knees, over desks, heads down and asses up. Girls with one of their fingers in their mouths, well, that one was pretty nice, actually. He nearly turned the page, then looked at the photo again. The girl had the tip of her finger buried between glossy, glistening pink lips. The pad of her fingerprint pressing on the wet line where the lipstick ended. Light thumbed a few more pages to see if there was a similar one with a girl on her knees and finger in her mouth, but flipped back when he started to feel a low buzzing in his abdomen. He became aware of his heartbeat by the pulse that beat through the large blood vessels in his thighs. No need to look further; this would do just fine. 

It should be his finger, there, between her lips. He imagined that she would grab his hand and gently slide it into her mouth, bobbing her lips over each knuckle. She could lick the underside of his finger and make it nice and wet before taking him deeper. Joint by joint she’d slide him into her, until she could swallow the knuckle that connected his finger to his palm. She would try to push it just a little deeper, oh, please, just a little deeper, like he was teasing her by not giving her something bigger to suck on. She’d be all his, drooling in the palm of his hand before either of them took their pants off. He put his hand to the zipper of his pants and stroked slow, general circles. She still had both hands free, so she could undo the button--

“Is he--” Matsuda stammered. He took his eyes off the screen as the button popped open. There weren’t enough items on the desk for him to straighten up, or to pretend to look distracted. A stack of coffee creamer wobbled as L placed another container on top of the last. A pile of empties stacked neatly to his left. The tower he built indicated that that was his new fidget, now that the cup was empty. “Ah, Ryuzaki,” he offered hastily, “allow me to get you another coffee.” 

“He is,” L answered, despite that the question wasn’t asked. Without looking away, he held up his coffee cup. “Go ahead, Matsui. Thank you.”

Matsuda took the cup and scampered nervously to the door. “I don’t know if there’s any left from the last batch, I’ll probably have to make a new one. You don’t mind if it takes a few moments? I’ll get started on it now.” Without awaiting an answer, he backed out the door and was out of sight before it closed. 

“Chief?” L said evenly, keeping his eyes on the screen. 

“Oh, uh,” Yagami had turned his back, and tried to think loud enough to block out the wiretaps. He hesitantly looked over his shoulder to L, trying to avoid as much of the screen as he could in his peripheral vision. “Yes?” 

L placed his chin on his knees. “If you would like to join Matsui, please do. I understand.” 

Yagami nodded once. “Thank you.” 

When the door closed behind him, L sat alone. Alone, except for the figure on the other side of the screen. Light unzipped his pants and lifted his hips to wriggle them down no further than he needed to. He poked two fingers through the hole in his boxers and dragged them up and down the length of the seam. The bulge throbbed and bucked against the light touches, aching for more pressure. Tingles like champagne bubbles trickled through his gut and up his spine, making his eyes flicker when they filled his head. 

Light pulled the waistband of his boxers down with an eager  _ SNAP!  _ and adjusted himself over the line of fabric. He spat in his hand and slathered it over the sensitive contours, flexing his abs impulsively to rub against his palm just a little more. He spat again and closed his hand, dragging it up and down slowly to luxuriate in the fresh warm wetness. He sighed at the pleasurable friction of skin on skin, letting out a whisper of a moan as he fell into rhythm. 

L readjusted his knees under his chin and rubbed one bare foot with the other.  _ Is this a game?  _ L thought, watching Light’s shoulder and arm muscles flex with perfectly even beats.  _ Even if he did find that there were cameras in the room, the magazine would send enough of a message. There’s no need to go this far to prove the point, unless he’s still unaware. _ L sighed thoughtfully as Light exhaled slowly and resistantly through his teeth. It was difficult to see anything, really, with the camera toggled the way it was-- not that it mattered, of course, since this didn’t pertain to the Kira case at all. L picked up an empty coffee creamer and tucked it inside the stack he already had going. 

Light arched his back and adjusted his hips, sliding down to get a better angle. The magazine sat beside him, still open to the page. This is what could fill her mouth. She could run her tongue up one side, then the other, to give herself a chance to breathe. Holding him in one hand, looking him in the eye, she could drag her rough wet tongue along each nerve and popping vein individually. She would twist her hand a little as she kissed the head, flicking her tongue teasingly as she did. Then, sliding her hand out of the way, she’d push him between her silken lips, down to the root, and bob back and forth until the saliva leaked from the corners of her mouth.

L placed one creamer on top of another. This could very well be a distraction. Maybe there was something else in the room that Light didn’t want him to see. Something on the desk, maybe, or under the bed. Knowing that he wouldn’t change the camera, it could be an effort to get the eyes off him-- a semblance of privacy-- so before they turned back, he would have the opportunity to kill again. It seemed unlikely. Or maybe-- L wracked his brain.

Or he just didn’t know they were there. 

Light cleared his throat quietly and hummed a sigh, keeping his lips parted afterwards. His hand stroked beats as even as a washing machine cycle as his breath bated to be kept in the same time. He twisted his wrist just slightly with each jerk to cover the expanding surface that got harder in his hand. He spat again, a viscous, dehydrated spit, and resumed. A slick, wet, slapping punctuated each pull and thrust of his hand. 

L picked up another creamer and turned it in his hand. There was no way it was an act, but it still seemed so… excessive. If he cared about Light’s privacy, he wouldn’t have had so many cameras installed. Yes, it was better to leave as few loose strings as possible. He leaned forward a bit and switched the camera. Camera 17 viewed the desk. 18 viewed the closet door. 19 scoped out under the bed. 20 peered out the air vent. 21 had a bird’s eye from the ceiling. It was from there that he actually saw it, the blushing head glistening with saliva, pinched between Light’s thumb and forefinger. 

Light’s right hand kept moving as his left reached for the tissue box on his nightstand. He desperately pulled a tissue out and tented it over the tip. He smoothed the corners with his left hand, and stroked over it again with his right. He held the corners down to form a seal, and with this is place, he freely submitted to the onsetting feeling as it intensified. His whole body felt like it was trembling, cheeks reddening, a thin sweat prickling up in his hairline. 

He put his head back and the camera above him caught his expression: lips slightly parted, eyes closed, brow furrowed. His forearm flexed as he squeezed a little tighter and twisted his wrist with every pump of his hand. He jolted his hips forward and bucked his hand a few times, losing control to the coming orgasm. His chest heaved, his shoulders shook, his panting grew audible. 

L placed one creamer on top of another. The tower grew a little taller, balancing precariously. 

“ _ Ah--”  _

He glanced up with a creamer still between his fingers, though the rest of the tower toppled. Light’s movements were desperate and rough. His left hand clutched at the waist of his jeans, stiff arming the left side of the zipper open. His mouth opened a little more. “ _ Hahh--”  _ pitched a little higher than the last. 

L folded his arms over his knees. 

Light’s eyebrows rose slowly in blissful surrender. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His moans inflected upwards, building off one another as the pleasure peaked. When it seemed like his voice couldn’t go any higher, his face froze in the height of his ecstasy, and his chest ceased heaving as he whimpered a sharp, vulnerable, “Ohh--!”

His face remained the same as he vocally sighed all the air he had in his lungs. The tension and the tremors melted from his body as he gasped and rolled his cheek onto one shoulder, sighing again, and again, and again, softer each time. His grip loosened and he settled into dreamy, absent caresses, milking out anything that he had left to give. 

He lay there for a while, panting, before recentering his head against the bed frame. The tissue was soaked through and wrinkled between his fingers, but he didn’t move his hand yet as he basked and luxuriated in the residual afterglow. His cheeks flushed as he began to catch his breath. He inhaled sharply through his nose and opened his eyes dazedly. He propped himself up properly onto one elbow and looked down. With his free hand, he scrunched the tissue up in a methodic, practiced way, swabbing up any collateral as he went. He pulled up his boxers, then his pants, held the tissue between two fingers and dropped it in the trash can with a heavy  _ splop _ . 

L felt like he was wearing his shoulders like earrings, and dropped them as Light let go of the tissue. He put a hand to the back of his neck and skimmed his eyes across the table. Creamers littered the surface, some had toppled to the floor. Its sweet scent floated around the desk and from each open vessel. When he realized his hands were in fists, he opened them slowly. The creamer that had brought the tower down toppled out of his hand and onto the floor. The once-full container was empty now, squeezed dry, a spritz of cream in his palm, the rest had dribbled down his leg. 


End file.
